The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.
The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind. First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer. And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.
Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected. Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973? Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well? How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?
What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.
Chapter 10
I slept later than I had intended. I woke up just in time to get dressed for Training Union. I wasn’t sure that was still the name First Baptist Church of Christ called it. It had been called Life’s Way or Learning the Way, or something similar, at First Baptist Huntsville where Susan and I attended during the thirty-three years we lived in the Rocket City before she died.
Pastor Caleb had triggered my interest when he announced at the end of the morning service, and after the long prayer for Elton, that new classes were beginning tonight. I was barely listening when he stated the names and teachers of the first two classes. That changed when he said, “Doug Barber will be teaching a class on death.” I think the Pastor called it, “Dying with Dignity.” He encouraged everyone, especially those with aging parents, to attend this six-week series.
There were only seven or eight women in the R.P. Steed Sunday School room when I arrived. No men except for one. I took a seat along the back wall, behind everyone else, and looked to the man standing at the front behind a small podium. I hadn’t seen Doug Barber in years. He didn’t say anything to me when I walked in but kept looking at me, even to the point he was staring. “Are you Fred Martin?” He finally asked, still pouring his dark-circle eyes into my face, like he was trying to peer inside my brain.
“That’s me. Are you Doug Barber?” I honestly couldn’t see the younger Barber in the old man’s face. He looked to be as old as Dad but that couldn’t be. Dad was eighty-nine, and Doug would be no older than his mid-seventies.
“The one and only Douglas Barber. Sharp of mind and dull of body. It’s been a long time Fred.”
Just as I started to become a smart ass of sorts, like ask Doug if he was still working in the drug trade, I almost fell out of my chair. At first, for a few seconds, I didn’t recognize her. My mind quickly convinced me it was Connie Stewart. I would have easily and instantly recognized her profile, but I hadn’t seen her straight on, or face-to-face, in a lifetime, probably at her high school graduation. I reminded myself that was the last time I was at Boaz High School, other than the recent Career day, when I had gone to see Deidre Martin give her valedictorian speech.
Doug started the class after Connie sat down on the front row just in front of his podium. He spent the next thirty minutes touching on a broad list of topics, everything from the need for us all to start preparing for our own deaths, to developing a resource plan for our parents if they were still living. He also outlined the six sessions we would have together. The one that I certainly didn’t want to miss would provide the latest research on what happened to the body when we die. I thought I already knew everything I needed to know about that: basically, the body decomposed. The initial phase, I believe, is called rigor mortis.
Doug used the tired old phrase, “ashes to ashes and dust to dust,” to refer to the natural process of dying and the body returning to the earth. He referred to Genesis 3:19 as though he was quoting but I knew this wasn’t how the text read. I knew it by heart, Mother had quoted it a million times over the years: “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.” No one said anything to Doug’s little slip and he ended his answer to his question by saying, “I’ve read that when a body is buried six feet down, without a coffin, in ordinary soil, an embalmed adult normally takes eight to twelve years to decompose to a skeleton.
Doug transitioned to what would have certainly perked Mother’s ears. He said, “we gain hope by hearing God’s plan to give us a new body in Heaven.” If for no other reason, I hoped to hear something that I could share with Mother. She was often intrigued or troubled over how and when this transformation would take place.
Doug dismissed class a few minutes early saying he had to run to the pharmacy. I suspected he continued his longtime practice of being available for his customers at any time. I think his business, Good Neighbor Pharmacy, had a tag line. Something like, “Always available for the sick, or never closed to the sick.”
After Doug left I got up and wasn’t far behind him when I heard my name called. I turned, and Connie Stewart was standing just outside the entrance to our classroom.
She repeated my name and said, “Don’t you work for Alfa Insurance Company?”
I told her that I did.
“Can I ask you a question?” She asked as I walked back towards her.
“Sure. I’ll try to answer it. I’m still fairly new to the insurance business so I’m still learning.” It was kind of an elementary statement. My thoughts were more, ‘how in the hell do you still look almost the same as you did when you graduated from high school?’ I didn’t ask that question and I forced myself to avoid staring into her deep blue eyes.
“I bet you’ve run into this. Mine and your parents are probably close to the same age. I’m interested in a long-term health care policy. I’ve been reading up on them and heard Alfa has one of the best and most cost-effective as far as premiums go.” Connie said, leaning back against the door frame. She hadn’t lost any of her height. I remembered her as a tall and lanky majorette in the Boaz band. I could see her coming off the football field, strutting her stuff, when me and the rest of the team were coming out of the field house after halftime. I could still see her perfectly shaped legs. And, at the time, she was only a sophomore.
“Alfa does have a great policy, but I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Underwriting won’t consider anyone over eighty and then, the rates are astronomical.” I was glad I had worked some in this market.
“No. Sorry. I wasn’t clear. I know I’ve waited too long to pursue a policy for Mom and Dad. I’m interested in one for myself.” Connie said.
“Okay. That’s a different story. I believe these type policies are still cost-effective for someone our age. Hopefully, you’ll be like your parents and live a very long time.” It was a miracle of sorts I could formulate a simple sentence and voice it without babbling. Why was I so shaken with such a simple conversation? Connie Stewart, the mysterious Connie Stewart, was to me like talking with the late Princess Dianna.
“You know I’m two years younger than you?” Connie said with a smile. I didn’t know if she was trying to make me feel bad by being older or if she was trying to lighten things up a little.
I don’t know how long I stood there reminiscing about the one and only date we had. I was a junior. Susan and I had been dating on and off for over a year, but we were taking a break, what she had said we needed to do to make sure we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. When I called Connie to ask her to go with me to a basketball game, I knew I was way out of my league. I was shocked that she had agreed. I can’t remember a thing we said during the entire basketball game. But, I do remember walking her to the back door of her house when I dropped her off. It was awkward at best. I wanted to end our first date with at least a kiss, any type of kiss would have been fine. As I had leaned in, I still remember it like it was yesterday, she had leaned out. That was the end of my days in the big league.
“I may be sixty-four years old, but I still have a pretty good memory. You were in Deidre’s class. Right?” I asked.
“And Rebecca’s. After church, I’m heading over there to see my very best friend.”
“She and Deidre were close. At one time, anyway.” I said.
“If you still have half a memory, you should recall how close the three of us were in high school. Have you forgotten Rebecca and Deidre sat behind us at the Albertville Coliseum during our one and only date?” I couldn’t believe she had remembered we had a date during high school.
“Don’t remind me. I actually don’t remember Rebecca and Deidre being there, but I could never forget that disastrous night.”
“Well thanks. I enjoyed it myself. I’m sorry it was so bad for you. But, I’m not surprised since you never called me back.”
“That didn’t come out right. I was the disaster. Quite frankly, you were too good for me. I was such a dunce. I was embarrassed. That’s why I never called you back. I couldn’t face the guaranteed rejection.” I said.
“People can be so dumb and so wrong. All you had to do was call. Anyway, we’re going to be late for the service. I always love hearing the Fishermen sing.” I had forgotten the popular group was scheduled for the entire worship hour.
Connie walked back into the R.P. Steed Sunday School room for her purse. I took the opportunity to stare at her rear and her naturally tanned legs. Her skin had always been dark and beautiful. Her bright flowered dress didn’t hide her figure. Sixty-two. It’s a miracle. She turned and almost caught me staring. I had to say something. “If you want I can help you find a long-term health care policy. But, I’ll need a little more information, things like daily benefit amounts you would want, deductibles, waiting periods, things like that.”
She was looking straight into my eyes, smiling, almost as though she had eyes in the back of her head. “I’ll give you a call in a few days. You work out of the Boaz office, right?”
“I do.” She walked on by me, kept smiling and was halfway across the small auditorium headed towards the stairway, when she turned and said. “I’ll try not to forget to call you.” She seemed to always be smiling. I couldn’t hardly move from where I had stood frozen beside the Sunday School door. As I often do, I pondered what conversation I had just experienced. The sound of the Fishermen’s first song making its way down the stairwell was enough to bring me back to reality.
After the concert, I drove home with a whole new appreciation for Connie Stewart and a determination that if she didn’t call me tomorrow, I would call her on Tuesday. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice in one lifetime, no disrespect meant for my dear Susan.
The Pencil-Driven Life 